


You Told Me

by soulfulmags



Category: Trance (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Eli is Bi, Ethical Dilemmas, F/M, Fassavoy, Francisca is Het, Gina Torres - Freeform, James Mcavoy - Freeform, M/M, McFassy, Michael Fassbender - Freeform, Not Abandonded!, Organized Crime, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sexism, Simon is gay, Violence, WIP, art heist, hypnotherapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2018-07-19 02:48:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7341544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulfulmags/pseuds/soulfulmags
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How would the story unfold if Simon falls for his hypnotherapist Dr. Eli Lamb and owes money to the ruthless Francisca Barrett?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Word from our Author

Before jumping into the story I thought it best, dear reader, to set the stage. Often ideas just kind of come about and you can't remember how but in this case, I do remember exactly how it happened. And thus, let's go through it shall we?

Danny Boyle,[ in the commentary for Steve Jobs](https://youtu.be/iVPTI4lq3ww?t=8m27s), said that while Michael was attached to Trance he wanted the role of Elizabeth's character and would have been opposite James who'd already been cast.

This idea lodged into my mind and resulted in a [popular mega-post](https://soulfulmags.tumblr.com/post/145935906317/soulfulmags-niniblack) that gave me enough confidence to attempt writing my first long multi-chapter fic. You won't be spoiled if you take a gander at the post.

Go ahead... I'll wait.

 

All done — great. Excited? Fantastic, I'm almost done and then you'll meet Simon. Now what else do you need to know? 

Ah yes! I am a visual person so I've cast the story and will provide images/gifs in the notes when appropriate.

I believe that is it, dear reader. I do hope you enjoy what you're about to read. And if you are so inclined, stroke my ego with kudos or a comment. I'll purr like a kitten and maybe just maybe you'll get another fic out of me.

XOXO  
soulfulmags


	2. Friday Night

“You Lose!”

Simon furrowed his brow as the words danced across the screen taunting him. There was a growing pressure behind his eyes. He’d turned down the brightness once his migraines became more frequent. No one told him eye strain from analyzing artwork for years would cause throbbing head pain to become part of his daily life. Nonetheless, he was undeterred from coming home night after night to reenact the scene in which he currently found himself — alone in front of a computer screen risking everything he had playing poker. Considering how infrequent his wins have become, it wasn't very playful anymore.

“Play again?” the screen suggested.

Simon felt a drop of sweat slowly making its way down his nape. Instantly, his grip on the chair’s armrest tightened as he grew hotter. He cursed beneath his breath and quickly pushed away from the table before the drop of sweat met his collar. The items on the table shook in the aftermath of his forceful movement from the table and temptation.

Simon’s long stride carried him to the fridge and the much needed cool air. He grabbed a beer and quickly emptied half the bottle before grabbing another. After closing the door with his foot, the cool air was quickly missed so he paused to sit the bottles down on the counter. He lifted up the bottom of his shirt to wipe his brow but then decided to ditch it all together. He hadn’t bothered to fully change once he got home as he was too eager to try his luck again after losing a hand at the office. Thankfully, Francis hadn’t noticed he was distracted all afternoon because she was zoned out on her own research. He’d worked with her for enough years to know when she needed space instead of his input. No other director gave their assistant such independence and Simon loved how jealous it made the others.

Removing the black collar shirt helped him relax and cool down. His undershirt stuck to his body a bit but not enough to make him uncomfortable so he decided to leave it.

Drinking was the priority at the moment.

Simon strode out of the kitchen with bottles in each hand. He sat them down on his coffee table and slumped onto the sofa. His eyes never left the laptop from afar as if it were a naughty child being told off with a glare. Once sat on the center cushion — legs spread wide and left arm beneath his head as he reclined — he looked at the ceiling momentarily then closed his eyes.

In his mind, he could forget the naughty laptop that failed to help him regain the feeling of his glory days. He’d forget about the envy he felt as Francis shared her weekend plans with her husband of fifteen years. He’d forget the smiles he had to fake yesterday during farewell drinks with his colleague Tobias. He’d taken a senior specialist position at Sotheby’s and kept asking Simon when he’d do the same. No one needed to know how deeply unsettled he was though appearances suggested he was well-adjusted.

Some would even say happy.

Simon opened his eyes amused at the thought of ever feeling that way. He smirked at the absurdity of it as he leaned forward to grab the half empty bottle from the table.

He’d started to doubt if happiness was real after his break-up three years ago. Simon at 32 believed he’d be settled into his dream life. But then his boyfriend left. No warning. Just gone. He likely had another man lined up before he crept from under Simon’s sheets in the middle of the night.

But whatever — his loss.

Except this wasn’t supposed to be Simon’s life. The way adulthood had been pre-packaged and sold led him to believe it would be better. He’d sue if he could but then who would be at fault exactly? Besides knowing his luck, Simon would lose and come out of it owing more than he could ever gain.

He emptied the first bottle in one go. Then he leaned back on the sofa again with his left arm under his head while his right hand scratched his beard. All at once he felt old and like a demanding teenager. He just wanted the well-decorated flat, fulfilling career, and loving partner.

You know. Adulthood.

Well, he couldn’t deny his place was nice — full of windows and sunlight when the weather was agreeable. Even with his messiness, the open layout and glass made it seem chic. And even though his career’s upward mobility had stalled, it fulfilled his fantasy to be amongst art all day. His habits made it difficult to switch to anywhere else. Besides Francis gave him respect for his loyalty instead of questioning his seeming lack of ambition.

All that remained was a partner.

He snorted and grabbed bottle number two at the thought of finding someone. He took in another mouthful before returning it to the table and his mind to his memories.

It’d been a string of forgettables after the Bastard left. Actually, one of them took Simon to his first poker game. Over the course of the evening, Simon found his lust being stoked by the game instead of his companion. He did have soft lips though. A smirk danced across Simon’s face at the memory of his companion getting his attention by trailing them up the side of his neck.

Then he softly whispered in his ear, “If we leave right now, I’ll suck you off in the taxi.”

Simon could hear the voice clearly in his mind, though the man’s name still escaped him. But the memory was enough to have his hand traveling down the front of his sweat damp tee.

He remembered turning to look at the young man, who would have dropped to his knees that moment if Simon commanded it based solely on the look in his eyes. With his thumb, Simon stroked his bottom lip and mouthed, “OK.” The young man’s face lit up and he briefly pulled Simon’s thumb between his full pink lips.

Little did he know, Simon had already decided to walk but he let him believe he’d been seduced. Besides, getting his cock wet was always a win.

Simon opened his eyes and lifted his hand from his lower belly to reach for the second bottle again. He sighed, shaking his head as if to clear away the memories of Soft Lips and took a big gulp of his beer.

Jacking off wasn’t going to do the trick tonight.

His eyes scanned the room and landed on the maligned laptop again. “Maybe later,” he said to the question he’d left on the screen. He imagined the virtual players responded with head nods of acknowledgement and understanding.

Feeling more at ease as the second beer’s magic kicked in, he grounded himself and warded off more memories by listening to the sounds of his surroundings. The noises of other people’s lives bled into the silence. A dog barking. Sirens. Lively chatter from the hallway outside his flat as people made plans to go to the pub.

“Perhaps I should go out?” he pondered aloud to the empty room. “Yea I’ll call Riz. He’s always up to something.” It had been awhile since he spoke to his old dealer but he knew Riz would never turn down a potential sale. The fact that Simon was broke and in debt from gambling was his and his bank’s business.

No one else’s.

He patted his thigh looking for his phone. His eyes popped open as his eyebrow arched curiously when it wasn’t in his pocket. But then it caught his eye on the table next to the damned laptop, whose screen was finally asleep. Simon hesitated to stand at first. Instead of contemplating the reason behind the pause, he grabbed his beer.

Just a bit more and then he’d go call Riz, find some trouble to get into, and some cute guy as well. The thought made him smile as he took the now empty bottle away from his reddened lips.

Feeling motivated, he stood up too quickly and jammed his toe on a massive art history book he’d left on the floor. “Christ!” he exclaimed and fell back onto the sofa. Enraged he grabbed the book ready to throw it across the room, but stopped when he saw the cover.

He’d amassed quite a few books during his studies at university and now they littered his floor. He used them frequently for work and just couldn’t be bothered to put them away. But this one brought on a wave of nostalgia as inundating as the pain flowing from his toes. The battered book with sticky notes along the side in every color imaginable had been his companion during his dissertation. He slouched back again grinning as he remembered the sleepless nights spent with this book. Simon began laughing as he read the nonsensical ramblings of his insomniac self on the sticky notes.

One bright green note caught his eye simply stating, _David = Fucking Perfection_. “Hm,” he snorted and flipped to the page. And there he was — Donatello’s _David_.

Simon rested the book on his lap and admired the photographs of the famous bronze statue which became his research subject for a year. He was still taken by its beauty all these years later even though it felt different seeing it again at 35.

In his youth, he identified with _David_ as the unlikely hero because he wanted to triumph over circumstances too. But he’d come to find that he desired him as well. Bet his mother didn’t realize taking her teenage son to Kew Gardens would lead to his sexual awakening via a marble cast of a Renaissance statue!

His mother believed taking Simon to every cultural and artistic event she could afford would open up the world to him in ways it hadn’t for her. He watched her struggle to feed them both. Yet she never made him feel like she regretted bringing him into the world.

Quite the opposite, she told him she felt lucky.

Every week she’d play the lottery and tell Simon to pick numbers for her. It never amounted to anything ultimately, which Simon took as a personal offense. He’d slump down in his chair incapable of hiding his disappointment. But without missing a beat, she’d hug him tight and whisper, “Nevermind that, I already won when I had you.”

As he grew older, he entertained his mom’s little outings with a begrudging smile. He’d already decided he didn’t have the makings of an artist after a brutal class critique. But still she encouraged him and always asked to see his latest sketches. When she suggested going to Kew Gardens, he was still weighed down by insecurity but tried to hide it.

At least now he was old enough to wander on his own. He broke away toward a large glass building called Temperate House miming that he’d call once he was done with his sketchbook in his other hand. She smiled at him and waved him away choosing to believe he was eager to draw — not get away from his mother.

Simon wandered through the walkways hoping there’d be some interesting subjects. He couldn’t come back with nothing to show. Then a flash of bright white amongst the greenery caught his eye. It looked like marble and as he approached, he could see it was a figure. He smiled as he’d been wanting to practice the human body anyway.

He began to make out the details as he approached it from behind — smooth curves of a nude backside, rolling curls under a brimmed hat, and a foot atop a severed head whose helmet had wings. His eyes followed the line of one of the wings as it curled up the victorious figure’s leg tapering off at the inner thigh.

Simon felt his throat go dry and looked around to see if he was alone still or if someone witnessed his mouth agape. Relieved to see no one, he continued studying the figure in peace. He walked around to the front and smiled at the boyish face smirking as it looked down at his defeated opponent. He reached out his hand to touch the smooth curve of the figure’s hip but stopped just before making contact when he saw the pencil smudges on his hand. He looked up as if to apologize only to find the same almost amused grin. He laughed and turned away to find a nearby bench with an unobstructed view of his discovery.

Simon would sit there for another 45 minutes sketching out his thoughts on the statue — _David_ he learned it was called — until his phone rang embarrassingly loud because his mom was looking for him.

When Simon returned to _David_ in his twenties, he was no longer a bashful closeted teenager. Yet he was still curious and enraptured by the piece. Simon found himself full of admiration as he learned how it was made, why it embodied femininity and masculinity at once, and what Donatello may have unearthed about his sexuality through its symbolism.

Now in his thirties, alone with alcohol flowing freely through him, Simon felt wistful as if he was looking at pictures of an old friend he hadn’t spoken to in years. His fingertips glided over _David_ ’s curves and he pondered aloud, “Where are you?”

All he got in return was the same enigmatic grin.

Simon let out a long sigh, placed the open book on the coffee table, and stood slowly this time. He limped to the fridge for an ice pack — and another beer.

He didn’t go out that night but he did finish all the beer he had and lost six hands of poker. The day was not a total loss though. He did win a few quid on a scratch card earlier that day. He could take it to buy carnations for his mother’s grave tomorrow morning.

“Yeah she’d like that,” he thought as he climbed into bed with heat still on his skin from the shower.

Simon closed his eyes, wincing at the slight throb of his head. The headache had settled in, apparently, for the evening just like he had. At this point, he didn’t expect to sleep soundly. He hoped his body would just give out so he’d be asleep before sunrise.

He laid on his stomach enjoying the feel of the sheets on his bare skin. He liked the friction and rubbed his cheek into the pillow trying to get comfortable. He could hear the sounds of people coming home from the pub outside his flat. The mumbled speech was mostly unintelligible but the rhythms began to soothe him. It went on for a few minutes until the cadence started to taper out as they prepared to say goodbye.

Just as Simon slipped into sleep he heard two voices come through clearly one last time.

“See you, Eli.”

“Goodnight,” a lilting voice replied as footsteps carried it away.

Simon unconsciously hugged the pillow tighter with a lazy smile as his body finally tapped out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. [Images of Simon's look](http://jamesmcavoyphotoshootarchive.tumblr.com/post/117172465920/james-mcavoy-by-kk-dundas-april-2015-hq-4-mq-2)  
> 2\. [Images of Donatello's David at Kew Gardens](https://www.flickr.com/photos/65986072@N00/5201072711/in/photostream/)  
> 3\. [Simon's reaction to seeing David](https://soulfulmags.tumblr.com/post/146771162222/simon-seeing-donatellos-david-in-kew-gardens)


	3. Saturday Morning

There’s a special hellish place for whoever designed his alarm clock. Eli’s sure of this fact as his arm frantically reached out for his phone from underneath his pillow. Sure he’d chosen the most obnoxious ringer to ensure he’d wake up but it doesn’t stop him from being thoroughly annoyed. And after a late night, his thoughts weren’t just annoyed but tinged with anger as he finally tapped the correct button to make the klaxon stop. He sighed in relief at the silence but now he was tense and awake.

Eyes still closed, Eli was not ready to face sunlight just yet.

But he was aware enough to mentally apologize to alarm clock designers everywhere for imagining — in vivid detail — their fiery demise via volcano. The lamenting quickly turned reflective due to how he currently felt. He kept imagining the last drink he should have refused. He doesn’t feel nauseated but his body was clearly screaming, “I’m too old for this.” Eli didn’t have the will to move just yet but his mind easily took flight.

_Do you regret going out with your friends?_

No, not all.

They’d been trying to reconnect for weeks to no avail. Their talks of weekly brunches and dinner parties failed to come to fruition. Schedules became busier as their group dynamic changed drastically since their time at university. He didn’t feel particularly bitter about it though. Time and work created an amiable distance for Eli.

Being of service to his patients every day left little space for him to recharge. His daily performance as Dr. Eli Lamb drained and fulfilled him in equal measure. His former mentor, Dr. Townsend, warned him about taking care of himself as an introverted person in a service-oriented field. She was one of the few professors he felt comfortable enough to speak with about personal matters and in turn she took a particular maternal interest in him. At the time, he saw no reason why he couldn’t run a successful private therapy practice, see his close friends often, travel yearly, and feel at peace every night lying next to the person he loved.

Well, his dad did always call him a dreamer.

His friends were the first thing to slip away. Eli watched over group text message chains as his network of loved ones built lives for themselves. Images of engagement rings, holiday photos in Spain, and silly candid moments with children he had yet to meet kept his phone buzzing with notifications. After a while, he found it hard to respond with more than emoticons and short phrases he could only hope conveyed his genuine affection. They warmed his heart but also brought into focus how much he still lacked.

It wasn’t as if he wasn’t trying. Eli just didn’t have much to show for it yet.

He could give them business updates but those began to feel cold and impersonal. They’d want to hear about who he was dating while he wanted to discuss his latest certification course. Or how excited he was to hold the keys to Dr. Townsend’s home once he took over as her permanent tenant when she retired to travel the world. They’d kept in touch after graduation and she knew Eli was looking for a place to live and set up his practice.

He could tell them about how rewarding it felt to put his name on the door and see the words Dr. Eli Lamb etched in gold. Instead, he sent a photo to his mom who responded “Oh my darling, that’s lovely. Your dad would have been so proud.”

She never failed to stress how proud his dad was of him though he often felt disdain when it came to his chosen profession. Eli’s dad thought he should have stayed in their town and worked a small honest job. “You know something that mattered,” he would say laughing haughtily. His dad’s comments were always followed by a laugh that covered up what he wasn’t saying but meant all the same.

“Yep, my Eli’s going off to the city to study psy- psy-...what is it again? Psychology yea. Well let’s hope those rich city folks can remember and use it down there, ha!” _'Cause we don’t have any use for it here._

“Thankfully he got a scholarship 'cause I wasn’t going to pay for him study that nonsense! We’ll see how it goes.” _He’ll be back._

“Yea, he’s going to be a ‘doctor.’” _But not a real one._

And yet his mom always insisted how proud his dad was of him, before and after an accident at work claimed his life while Eli was away studying. He traveled home to stand by his mom’s side and lay him to rest. 

Eli stood there — gripping her hand — crying silently and feeling uncomfortable in his own skin. In his mind, he could hear the last words his dad said to him.

“Listen, I don’t understand what it is you’re doing but you know, do what you gotta do —” There was no laughter. Just a weighty pause that Eli’s mind filled in for him: _To support yourself. To be successful. To be happy._ His dad gave the phone back to his mom who said, “We’re proud of you.” Her insistence on including him in the sentiment didn’t feel forced that time.

A few weeks later he was riding the ferry wearing a black suit he just purchased and would never wear again.

Throughout his time back home, he heard stories about how his dad spoke about him. There was such affection and respect in their words he felt overwhelmed. He retreated to his room, like he often did as a child, from the torrent of emotions. He let out a sigh of relief when he closed the door. This space was his haven as a child with an imaginative hyper-active mind. He took in how the room, amazingly, looked just how he left it when his eye caught a row of notebooks above his bed. He picked up one of his many journals and fell onto the soft pillows on his bed.

Eli’s eyes lit up as he skimmed the pages. At 16, he’d been questioning everything about himself. _Who was he? What did he want? What did he believe?_ Entry after entry of never-ending inquisition. He could clearly see the seeds of his interest in the human mind and psychology. His brow furrowed at the first passage of many about his dad. Underneath the angst, there’s a longing for understanding. He wanted so desperately to run away from this small town and be accepted by those who thought he was too quiet and reclusive.

But apparently, his dad had accepted him and was even proud of him. Eli wasn’t sure how to reconcile this new information with his memories but as he sat there hiding from his mourning family, it didn’t seem to matter.

 _Do what you gotta do._ That’s all he had left and he wasn’t going to question it.

After a short nap, Eli emerged from his room having changed out his suit into a loose t-shirt and sweatpants. He found his mom alone in the kitchen making tea with the television on in the den, which had been his dad’s domain. She smiled when she saw his sleepy face and sat a cup down on the small kitchen table. She made one for herself and then turned to say, “Wanna watch his favorite show? It’s coming on soon.”

Eli’s head popped up from the swirling cup of tea at her words. He shook his head, not trusting his voice to decline. She sat her cup down on the counter and reached out to grab his hand. She gently tugged for him to stand and Eli knew he had better follow the silent command. Once they crossed the threshold she let his hand fall away and he stopped short when he saw what was on the television.

“You know how he was with words but he did try in his way Eli,” she started as a medical drama centering around a psychotherapist played across the screen. “He’d ask me all these questions that always ended with, ‘So Eli is gonna do that?’” She snorted at her bad impression and the memory.

Her small laugh broke Eli out of his stunned pose by the door. He walked over, slumped down on the settee, and laid his head on her shoulder. She stroked his hair and softly spoke as her voice cracked slightly, “He may not have understood you but he loved you. He was an idiot sometimes but he loved you.”

Over the next few days, Eli kept close to his mother who somehow quietly carried her loss around without it overtaking her. He’d not been so composed but only in front of her as she reminisced about her husband to the son that never got to know him properly.

After a week, Eli found himself packing up to catch the ferry and drive back to London. He hugged his mom tightly but after a few minutes passed it felt like she was gently pushing him away. She smiled at him through glassy eyes but no tears fell. She kissed his damp cheek, turned him toward the car, and stepped back crossing her arms effectively ending their exchange. He expected her to look as if she was carrying another loss and yet she stood there with a knowing pride-filled smile as her tears finally broke free.

The expression on her face paired with his father’s words propelled him all the way back to the city. It pushed him to stop being shy around his professors who’d shown interest in his ideas. It pushed him to ask Dr. Townsend for advice as he’d been interested in her practice of cognitive behavioral therapy and alternative methods. It pushed him to seek friends and relationships he wouldn’t have dared before.

Eli loved going home at holiday breaks to share the latest developments with her. He’d text her images of his adventures in the city and she’d send back nature-filled snapshots from their town. Her messages always filled with love and never once making him feel bad for being away.

Cracking open his eyes to look at his favorite of those pictures sitting on his nightstand, Eli hoped the slight throb in his head wouldn’t take a turn for the worse. His sight came into focus and there was the photo of his mom’s garden.

He sighed happily.

Her pictures hang around his house now as does the furniture he could afford to bring from their home. He’d kept every piece that meant a lot to him, while spreading the rest to his extended family. Before she was taken from him by a drunk driver two years ago, Eli’s mom had given him a lot of input on decorating his home for public and private use. She was part of this place and he kept all the pieces that belonged to his parents in the areas, like his bedroom, that were off limits to the patients he saw in his home.

He glanced around feeling more awake every second and was thankful to find his room looked pretty much in the same state he’d left it in before heading out. His pile of laundry — which grew by a few items last night apparently — sat upon the settee from their den. The standing mirror next to his dresser belonged to his mom. He liked to think that she greeted him every morning when he stood there trying to style his hair and adjust his clothes. He liked to think about how he would have answered the questions his dad never got a chance to ask whenever he sat on the settee to put on his shoes. By filling the space with keepsakes from his old home, he’d created a new haven for himself and often never wanted leave its comfort.

 _But you gotta do what you gotta do_ , his mind supplied in response to the question he never fully posed because he already knew the answer.

With slow and tender movements, Eli propped himself up on his pillows and grabbed his maligned but forgiven phone to check his messages. The world kept right on spinning while he was knocked out it would seem. No cancellations brightened his mood instantly. A few bill notifications he swiped away as if it erased the debt itself. He knew this wasn’t the case but Eli couldn’t help but smirk.

He’d spent a good part of his twenties being stressed out by things like that but was refusing to live through his thirties the same way. Admittedly, it’d not been easy since he started freelancing after adding hypnotherapy to his practice. He’d been interested since his first conversations with Dr. Townsend and jumped at the chance to get certified. Not to mention that his private practice model wasn’t cutting it as business had become inconsistent at best and slow at worse.

Eli believed in what he could do for people. But he had to get creative in order to reach them.

In the past year, he started video chatting with patients who couldn’t come in person. He hosted workshops at community centers and joined a team of other practitioners with a range of specialties to provide counseling services. He’d taken to blogging and growing a presence online to bring in more patients. Sometimes it didn’t sit right with him how much his desire to help people had turned into a business but then again — he had to eat too.

He sunk further into the comfort of his pillows, enjoying the feel of the soft sheets along his bare back, as he continued reading emails when he got a notification.

_Thanks for walking me home :)_

“So we did exchange numbers then,” he sighed. He barely remembered the name of the girl who tagged along. She’d been invited by his former roommate’s wife and Eli had been cordial to the intruder.

She wasn’t to blame and he could almost hear his mom chiding him to “be nice.”

Eli couldn’t help it that he made stronger connections with fewer people. He could be nice but he wasn’t in the market for any new people in his life. He could barely keep up with the ones he had.

_No worries, it was nice to meet you. Have a good day._

Eli wrote out the message a few times before sending. It had to be friendly, but not an invitation for a prolonged exchange. When he didn’t get a response after a few minutes, he knew it had worked. He couldn’t remember her name but knew it was for the best even if her feelings were momentarily hurt.

He’d lost two girlfriends in the past 6 months for largely the same reason. It boiled down to the same complaint which was often yelled at him in an argument, “Just forget it, you don’t care anyways!”

Eli would counter trying to explain how important it was for him to focus on work at this time in his life. He had plans for where he wanted to be before his 32nd birthday and wasn’t going to stop until he got there.

Apparently, it was not the right thing to say.

They’d storm off in a swirl of clicking heels, grumbling, and slammed doors. He’d been off the market ever since. It wasn’t really fair to them and he knew that. Besides, 32 came a few weeks ago and Eli still felt like he was lagging behind.

Feeling good about his decision to close the door on everything that suggestive smiley face at the end of her text had on offer, Eli swung his legs out and rose from his bed. He had one thing on his mind — water.

Before he could do anything else, he had to get hydrated to chase away the remnants of last night. He’d do a quick workout, shower, breakfast, and then head out.

It may be Saturday but Eli had work to do.

There was a group session at a community center on the other side of the city he agreed to lead and then a video chat follow-up with a new patient that afternoon. He smiled at the thought as he started stretching in his makeshift workout room. Whenever a patient chose to continue working with him, Eli felt a burst of joy and reassurance.

He folded his lean frame until his fingertips touched his toes. He listened to his breathing and tried not to make a to-do list in his mind.

This time was just for him.

He slid his hands up his bare legs, over his blue boxer briefs, and up his sides until his arms were outstretched above his body. He took a few deep breaths and opened his eyes. Eli twisted his torso, feeling his back crack slightly, and sighed in pleasure. He loved feeling his body loosen up before starting his routine.

After his half hour workout, he checked his freshly shampooed hair in the mirror. “You look lovely dear, go get ‘em!” he could hear his mom say. He smirked and grabbed his bag before heading downstairs and out the door.

The air was crisp but not uncomfortable underneath his brown leather jacket and green scarf. The wind tousled the slight curls atop his head that usually signaled him to cut his hair. He was playing with the idea of growing it out a bit this time but he was unsure so he constantly fussed with it. He pushed his hand threw it once more to make sure it was tame when he caught the eye of a blonde woman a few paces ahead walking the opposite way. Eli acknowledged her gaze with a grin but kept a steady pace walking away from her.

He delighted in such small flirtations but rather enjoyed simply people watching as he hustled around the city. Eli would dream up entire stories for the strangers he encountered for mere seconds. It varied wildly based on the weather, his level of attraction, and of course, the music playing from his headphones.

Blondes weren’t really his type and the girl had the misfortune of crossing his path right as _Maneater_ started to play. He loved putting his player on shuffle to see what would happen and was rarely disappointed thanks to coincidences like that.

He laughed softly as he kept walking toward his station when he caught sight of a man holding a small bouquet of bright yellow carnations. His eyes were immediately drawn to the pop of color as it was a dreary grey day. The man was holding the flowers close to his face to catch their scent, likely having just purchased them for the shop behind him. _Perhaps for his wife...maybe he was married to the blonde!_ Eli hoped not as he seemed like a nice man and she was definitely a heartbreaker.

When Eli passed by the shop toward the station, he caught a quick glimpse of the man’s face as he moved the flowers away. It was a vaguely handsome blur of orange, pink, blue, and cream shapes that stuck in his mind as he rushed down the stairs to catch the train that just pulled into the station.

He made it on as the doors closed and _Just My Imagination_ began to play.

Eli smirked and thought, _Well hopefully whoever she is likes her flowers._

Once in his seat, he dug through his bag to pull out his journal. When he looked up, he saw a guy openly following the creased line in his dark brown trousers with his eyes. He gave a small smile but then turned his body away and crossed his legs. He balanced the journal on his knee and began jotting down the to-do list which he’d been writing in his head all morning as the train bustled along to the rhythms in his ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. [Image of Eli's look](http://bestwallpaperhd.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/02/michael-fassbender.jpg)


	4. Breaking News

**_Monday’s Top News Story_ **

_An attempted robbery took place today at famed auction house Delancy’s. Our sources tell us that the heavily armed perpetrators tried to steal over 1 million pounds of artwork in the form of paintings and ceramics. The gang of armed men attacked during an auction. Most of the injured were guests that were trampled as people tried to exit the building. Sadly, one courageous member of the security team Kenneth Wilcox was mortally wounded in the line of duty. Due to the heroic efforts of Kenneth Wilcox and Delancy’s security team, the thieves were taken into custody and the valuables returned. We send our deepest condolences to the Wilcox family. We are wishing fast recovery to all those affected, including friend of the show Dr. Francis Lemaitre who sustained severe injuries and is in intensive care._

“Idiots,” Francisca paused to take a sip of her wine and leaned back in her leather office chair.

She grabbed the remote and flipped to the football match instead. She switched back just in time to see her team score and leapt out her chair with a loud cheer.

Smirking, Francisca smoothed out her dress and sat back down. She imagined Giovanni and his men sitting behind bars while she took another sip. She savored the feel of it on her tongue and the warmth spreading through her limbs. Her mind began to plot her next move and how she’d handle any resistance.

Everything her father had aspired to but never achieved was right there for the taking.

She sat down her glass and grabbed her phone. One phone call would set everything into motion. By the week’s end, Francisca “the stupid American entitled princesa” Barrett would be in total control and making these assholes eat their words.

Papa would be proud of his baby girl.

 

* * *

 

**_Subject: Announcement and Dr. Lemaitre Update_ **

_Though we at Delancy’s are all still grieving the loss of our dear colleague in last month’s terrible incident, we are grateful to have positive news to announce. Effective immediately, Simon Newton will be our new Head Auctioneer and Senior Director of Old Master Paintings and Sculptures._

_During this difficult time, Simon has graciously stepped in for his mentor Dr. Francis Lemaitre. We’re glad to welcome him to the team permanently. Francis has been advised by her physicians to step down and focus on her recovery. Francis asked us to share the following statement:_

> _“Simon has been a loyal dedicated friend and colleague. If there is any good to be had, it’s that someone who is like a son to me is being granted an amazing opportunity. I’m looking forward to continuing my recovery with friends and family though I will miss you all greatly. Thank you for all of your well wishes.”_

_We’re collecting gifts for Francis so please bring any contributions by Friday._

_Thanks,_

_Stacy Littlejohn_

_Human Resources_

****

* * *

 

  ** _Subject: Security Training - Reminder_**

_This is a friendly reminder that everyone is required to attend Friday’s security training. After last month’s tragic events we are making changes to our policy._

_You all are part of the Delancy’s family and we want you to know you are valued and supported. As part of Friday’s training, we’ll introduce the new counseling services we’re offering for anyone in need. Please take advantage of these services and take care of yourselves._

_If you have any questions or concerns, please get in touch with your direct supervisor._

_See you all on Friday,_

_Stacy Littlejohn_

_Human Resources_

 

* * *

 

His inbox had never been in such a state. There’s a seemingly never-ending flood of requests aimed at him. The glee Simon felt about the new title in his email signature wore off after the second hour of writing responses.

Nothing felt beyond his ability or skill set. It was just a lot. Francis had never seemed bothered by it but it was likely an ease she’d earned after 20 years.

Simon missed her.

 _Surrogate moms should be granted some kind of special protection_ , he thought. No one should have to go through that type of grief twice. He leaned back in his chair sighing and stretched his arms out above his head. After a few loud pops, he groaned and leaned back into typing position.

 _You didn’t lose her for real — relax._ His mind provided unsolicited. Simon shook his head slightly and opened the latest email from HR.

Even though he felt like Stacy didn’t really understand what everyone was dealing with because she was relatively new, he relented and agreed to her counseling idea. His one condition: she had to plan it. He was swamped with running the trainings in Francis’ stead and didn’t have time to look for therapists too. 

> _Hi Simon,_
> 
> _Hope the prep for today is going well. See attached for the list of counselors that will be joining us today. I put a quick blurb about each one for you as well._
> 
> _If you need anything else, let me know!_
> 
> _Stacy_

He couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm. Besides, Simon loved when someone excelled at a task they’d been given. He wasn’t expecting her to even complete it, so he shot back a quick thank you.

He had to build rapport with these people now after all.

He stood from his desk to grab the list Stacy sent along with his remarks from the printer. Simon placed the warm sheets inside a folder and grabbed his jacket. The heather grey suit was a favorite of his so he purposely wore it today. He needed to feel confident standing there in front of all those people. Some former colleagues, now subordinates. Some former supervisors, now colleagues. Everyone had been supportive so he had no reason to believe today would be different but that hadn’t stopped the nerves.

Simon straightened his tie, buttoned his jacket, and smoothed his hair. He felt thankful for his beard and silver streak today as it made him look more distinguished.

Like he knew what he was doing. Like he belonged here.

He’d visited Francis and gotten her blessing before accepting the offer. He visited his mother’s grave after work yesterday hoping she could somehow calm him. He brought in some of the yellow carnations to sit on his desk to keep her near. He kept all of Francis’ books just how she’d left them and found some comfort in that too.

Behind the closed door of his office, Simon felt like he could do this. He breathed deep, clutched the folder in one hand, and smoothed his hair once more with the other. He exhaled as he turned the knob and relaxed his fingers just so.

Simon smiled brightly at the first person he saw — an assistant delivering mail — and felt relieved when he got a kind smile in return.

When he entered the hall, he found empty rows of chairs. _Must be early_ , he thought and began walking to the front of the room. Everything was in order except for a lone brown leather messenger bag he noticed in the front row.

He eyed the bag suspiciously and looked around to see if anyone was nearby. He was still alone and the clock read fifteen minutes before the training started. He cautiously bent over to take a closer look.

No odd sounds or smells.

Then suddenly he heard, “Sorry to break it to you but it’s not scratch ‘n sniff leather.”

Simon turned to find a charming smirk to match the tone.

“I uh — sorry about that,” he said as he skittishly moved back from the man’s seat.

“No I apologize. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Well it is a security training. Can’t just leave bags unattended,” Simon said slightly annoyed as he straightened his shoulders and tried to regain his composure.

“Ah yes. How absent minded of me?” the handsome stranger remarked with a self-deprecating smile and tugged his ginger hair.  Simon watched him bend over to fetch something from his bag — blushing at the view and recalling that he must have looked the same when this man returned to his seat.

“I didn’t catch your name. I’m Simon, Simon Newton. I’ll be leading the training today.”

The stranger popped up and straightened his leather jacket now emblazoned with a name tag that read, Dr. Lamb.

“Eli, Dr. Eli Lamb. I’m one of the counselors,” he stated reaching out to shake Simon’s hand with a full beaming smile.

In that instant, Simon knew he owed Stacy a dinner… and a drink...and flowers.

“Pleasure to meet you, “ Simon uttered with a tone he hoped dripped with charm. “Thank you for joining us today. I do hope someone will put you to good use.”

Eli’s eyebrow jumped up of its own accord at his words and the way Simon’s tongue brushed over his bottom lip afterwards as he licked his lips. Simon replayed what he had said back in his mind and realized how forward that could’ve sounded.

He released Eli’s hand and laughed nervously.

“It’s quite alright. Relax, Simon. You seem awfully nervous if you don’t mind me saying.”

Eli turned away from him and reached in his bag again.

“Here. Take some water.” Simon hesitated. He already looked foolish in front of this lovely man and now he probably thought he was mental.

“Don’t worry it’s not tainted — besides I’ve seen panic that looked far worse.”

Simon looked up from the bottle in his hand to see that already familiar smirk. He grabbed the bottle and took a big gulp. He momentarily closed his eyes so he missed the way Eli watched his throat as he swallowed.

After a few calming breaths, he opened his eyes and handed the bottle back to Eli.

“Now no one hears a word of this, Doc?”

“Well it’s nothing to be asha—” Eli stopped short when Simon’s eyes cut toward him in a challenge.

“Deal. And you can call me Eli by the way,” he continued dropping the bottle onto his seat.

The seriousness of Simon’s face shifted as he replied coolly, “Oh but I like authority figures, Doctor.” He smiled and turned away. He heard Eli clear his throat as he moved toward the podium and felt his confidence peak.

Throughout the afternoon, Simon’s challenge became two-fold — make a good impression on colleagues and watch over Dr. Eli like a hawk. He had to pick and choose when to steal a glance. Preferably when Eli wasn’t looking at him so he didn’t stumble over his words. It happened once and the stupid gorgeous grin on the doctor’s face made him determined that it wouldn’t happen again.

When it came time to introduce the counselors, Simon improvised a transition to Stacy. He wanted her to get the credit she was due and it freed him up to be in the audience.

Simon took her place sitting in the front row, across the aisle from Eli. It took everything he had not to look at him as Simon walked to take his seat and crossed his legs like he was in full control.

Outwardly, he looked relaxed and largely felt that way except this niggling internal itch he couldn’t scratch.

He wanted so desperately to appear unaffected by the Dr. but also so desperately wanted to yell at him that he was completely unaffected.

He never wanted Eli to look at anyone else. 

He didn’t want to hear his name come out of Stacy’s mouth when she introduced him. 

He couldn’t wait until he could stare at him openly.

He needed to study the exact shade of his eyes.

He needed to know the exact length his hair needed to be for it to curl.

He needed to know the exact angle of that fucking grin.

His mind’s eye wanted to document it all.

But instead he just sat still, listening to Stacy speak. Each counselor was asked to stand and say a few words. Simon clenched the rolled up papers in his hand when he heard Eli’s voice projected through the microphone.

Gone was the playful tone he’d been playing in his mind. Instead he heard a firm and calming tone that was explaining his specialty in hypnotherapy. Simon’s eyes drifted up his body recording every detail to memory.

_Dark brown leather loafers._

_Dark blue denim, pressed and creased._

_Cognac leather belt pulled securely to his small defined waist._

_Hunter green jumper rolled up to the elbow, leaving pale freckled forearms and neck._

_His arms moved in gestures as he spoke and the veins in his forearms moved to their rhythm._

_His chest filled out the jumper as he inhaled but he was lean overall._

_His neck was sprinkled with minimal growth of a ginger beard to match his hair._

_His mouth was broad with nose and forehead pronounced but all in proportion._

_His eyes picked up the green shade of his shirt but the blue could never be subdued._

He was lovely to look at but fascinating to listen to as his voice had a lower range to it that made Simon feel warm in his suit.

After all the counselors spoke, they exited to their various stations in conference rooms and empty offices around Delancy’s. Simon felt better able to focus almost instantly and conducted the training without a hitch. He ended with a phrase Francis had said to him during his first training, “Remember, no piece of artwork is worth a human life.”

The words felt much heavier now and he didn’t miss the few tearful eyes in the group.

Kenneth was a good man. Though they weren’t close, he was going to miss being greeted by him daily. Simon let out a sigh to break the silence and reiterated where the counselors could be found.

And though he hoped people got the help they needed, he was secretly hoping one of the counselors would be less popular with staff. Maybe so unpopular, in fact, that he’d be free for a late afternoon break.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. [Image of Francisca's look](https://68.media.tumblr.com/8940afd779e6a21e50820b357ef5e288/tumblr_n72d1yzVlW1sgn3a1o1_250.gif)  
> 2\. [Image of Francis' look](https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B-zpl77tt1JfTGhmeVZuTjdtdUU)


	5. Coffee Break

Eli tapped his pen absentmindedly as he looked up from his laptop through the windows in the door to his allotted conference room as people strolled by. A few lingered and hesitated like they were going to come in, but in the end kept right along their way. 

He suspected that not many would venture to see the hypnotherapist out of the counselors but he wanted to try. The more people heard about it, the less unorthodox it would become. 

In the meanwhile, he took to budgeting out his time and money for the coming week. If he spent some time writing today, it would free him up during the week. And as no one had come by since a kind woman from Acquisitions who’d been having trouble sleeping left three hours ago, Eli didn’t feel bad about focusing on something else for awhile.

He’d set up his laptop and unpacked his lunch then fell into the rhythm of writing as the sound of tapping keys filled the room. Eli zoned out as the words flowed from him and stopped popping up his head whenever he heard footsteps headed his way. 

That is until he heard a tapping at the door.

He glanced up to see Mr. I Like Authority holding two cups of coffee and wearing a bright grin.

Eli offered what he hoped was a warm smile in return and gestured for him to come in. The man’s smile was contagious. And besides, his fingers ached for a break and his body longed for the boost of some caffeine. One swift flex of his fingers to enter the key command and his document was saved. He closed his laptop so he could give Simon all of his attention.

“Sorry for the mess in here,” Eli offered as he rushed to clean up the trash from his lunch.

“Ah, no worries. I didn’t come here to scold you. Just thought you could use a break.” Simon kept smiling as he handed him one of the cups he was holding and sat down to Eli’s left. He took a long sip of the coffee and looked past Eli’s shoulder to the view.

Eli awkwardly laughed and was struck at how he filled the space near him with such ease. Simon was shorter than him but he commanded the attention. He seemed to be robed in a confidence that had been missing when they first met. Eli looked up from his cup after taking a sip to see that Simon had angled his chair toward him slightly and crossed his legs.

Eli couldn’t help but follow the line of his trousers up his calf to the sculpted thighs that were on display under the grey fabric. He imagined the strength within them. He imagined the freckles that may line them like the forearms that were now out in the open since the grey jacket from before was gone and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows. 

Just when his internal clock signaled,  _ You’ve been looking for too long _ , he heard Simon’s low accented voice say,  “Nice view, huh?” 

He’d been caught but sought to play it off anyways.

He turned to his head to look out the window and replied, “Yes, of course. But I’m not here for that.” He said coolly as he turned back to look at Simon squarely and sip his coffee. The blue of his eyes seemed to shine in the mid-afternoon light with the same spark of a child who has a secret they refuse to tell but want their knowledge to be known nonetheless.

He was enjoying this.

“No harm in appreciating the sights as you work, Doc. Be a shame to miss, especially on a sunny day like this.” Simon smirked and sat down his cup on the table as he went to stand by the window.

Eli was used to people flirting with him, but this was somehow a bit different. Simon was intriguing. Perhaps it was his confidence. Or perhaps it was because Eli knew there was vulnerability underneath all that charm. Either way, he couldn’t stop himself from following the curve of his body as he stood.

_ No line has been crossed yet _ , he assured himself giving allowances for even entertaining these thoughts.

“Now you are right about that,” he stood up as well and stretched his body out toward the ceiling with a groan. It felt good to stretch and he admittedly wanted to gain back some ground.

And just as expected, Simon turned quickly to catch his movements and licked his lips without hesitation.

_ Oh this is fun _ , Eli thought noticing the reaction and smiled as he turned a curious eye toward Simon.

Simon cleared his throat, “So how has the day been treating you so far?”

Eli walked over to stand next to him and shrugged. “Been quite uneventful if I’m to be honest.”

“Really?” Simon said with genuine surprise.

“Yea, I believe the need exists but there’s trepidation around my specialty.” Eli turned to lean his back against the window. He could feel the warm glass through his shirt and sighed in pleasure before speaking again. “Hypnotherapy is scary to many and unknown to most. Not necessarily the first go-to for someone grieving.”

Just the mention of it brought back why he was really here. He was supposed to be working, not flirting with a handsome Scot. He pressed off the glass and walked back to his seat. 

Simon followed closely behind, “To be honest, I’d never considered it either until I heard you speak today.”

Eli smiled. He saw an opening and he was going to take it.

“So, what would you like to discuss Simon?”

Simon’s eyes grew large for a moment then he sputtered, “Oh no, I’m sorry. I didn’t come here for counseling.”

“Hm,” Eli uttered without breaking eye contact. He knew he wasn’t wrong. There was something there that Simon needed to get out. 

“Not to say there aren’t some things you could assuredly help me with,” Simon continued trying to salvage the moment. Even pushing his hands through his lush dark and slightly silvered hair to draw focus but Eli was undeterred.

“Simon,” Eli paused to ensure he was listening because he knew this needed to be said outright. “I’d be more than happy to help you. I truly believe I can, especially after your bout of anxiety from before.” He watched Simon’s shoulders tense up when he mentioned their meeting but continued on. “But you must know that for me to do so it would be a strictly professional doctor/patient relationship.”

Simon blinked a few times before looking away. Eli pressed on and resisted the urge to reach for his hand.

“I enjoy speaking with you Simon, and really appreciate the coffee. I just don’t want there to be any confusion.” Eli spoke with a firm tone of conviction. All flirtation aside, he’d taken an oath and that was not something he took lightly. The pull toward Simon would subside now that he’d made it clear he was off limits. Simon would fall back and then he could focus again. This wasn’t the first patient he’d had to have this conversation with but it was the first time he’d felt so very tempted. 

“Yes, I understand Doc. You’ve made yourself quite clear.” Simon looked back at Eli and there was a sadness in his eyes that wasn’t there before. 

“Now, Simon, can we continue with why you came to see me today?” Eli pressed on.

“Well you kind of just took that off the table Doc,” Simon smiled and a little of the sadness in his eyes went away — but not fully. 

Eli noticed.

“Yes, you find me attractive. But I do not think that is all.” Eli sat back in his chair and crossed his hands over his legs waiting for a response. He knew he could get Simon to come to him.  _ Just a bit more. _

“So sure of that, huh?” Simon sat back in his seat as well and crossed his arms. His biceps filled out the sleeves much like his thighs had before. Eli knew he did it on purpose but pressed on though he appreciated the display.

“Yes, I am.” Eli smiled, despite his best efforts. He tried not to let his cockiness shine through but Simon brought out his competitive side. He would win this exchange. He had to.

“You can talk to me. What’s bothering you, Simon?”

Simon let out an amused scoff and rolled his eyes as he said, “Everything.” He seemed immediately surprised that he said that aloud and looked back at Eli.

“Literally all things in your life or can you be more specific?”

Simon uncrossed his arms and leaned forward in his chair and stated, “I could but I won’t. Not here.”

There. There it was, now he just had to follow through.

“Fair enough. These aren’t really the best conditions, huh?” Eli tried to lighten the mood a bit and saw Simon relax a little at his words. 

“Pass me that bag in the chair next to you, would you?” Eli asked. “It’s not gonna blow up or anything, I promise.” He smiled as brightly as he could and saw Simon relax a little bit more.

Simon reached behind him to grab the bag and tossed it into Eli’s lap. As Eli dug through the bag, Simon took another sip of his coffee and then tension eased out of his shoulders completely.

“Aw here we go. Here, take this.” Eli outstretched his hand toward Simon who grabbed the card with some trepidation.

“You’re right. This isn’t the best place for us to talk. But I want us to and if you agree, come by. The address is on the card.”

Simon studied the card and then uttered, “When?”

“Well, before you interrupted me with your thoughtful gift, I was in the middle of writing so I could have more time tomorrow for sessions. I’m open all afternoon.” He smiled warmly and then stopped himself. He’s the one that just said no flirting.

_What kind of impression are you making if you can’t even stop yourself?_

And of course, Simon didn’t miss the slip up.

He smiled wide and said, “It’s a date.”

Eli started to open his mouth to shoot him down again but Simon held up his hands. “I know. I know. Not a date. An appointment.” He nodded curtly like he’d just made up his mind. “Put me down for tomorrow at 1.”

“Sounds good.” Eli tried to keep the sound of triumph out of his voice.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go gather up all my pain and sorrow so that I can properly unload on you tomorrow.” Eli’s eyebrow shot up again at Simon’s words. He’s really gotta get his eyebrows under control since Simon’s propensity for innuendo appeared to be endless.

“Nope. I’m not even apologizing this time Doc. You take that as you will.” He stood up and gathered his emptied coffee cup. 

Eli laughed and said to his retreating back, “Thanks again, Simon.”

He turned once he reached the door and replied with his voice laced with sincerity, “Anytime, Doc.”

Once he was alone again, Eli reopened his laptop and opened his calendar. He input Simon’s appointment and color coded it to yellow. 

_Watch out for this one_ , Eli thought to himself and went back to finishing his article.


	6. Spring Cleaning

10,254.

Eli shouldn’t be surprised by how high the number is but still his eyes grew large. That’s tantamount to the amount of debt he owed or the social media following he dreamt of having. That’s what it should be.

Not the number of emails found when he searched for messages from smn-nwtn.

Pages and pages of messages dating back to the beginning last year and Eli kept them all.

It started so innocently.

> _Hey Doc, just confirming our appointment tomorrow. 1pm, yes? And would flowers be completely inappropriate because my mother always told me never to come to someone’s home empty handed ;)_

Eli shook his head remembering how Simon showed up holding a bouquet of light red carnations. It was as if he chose the same shade of his lips on purpose. Eli smiled wide when he saw him and let him in never once questioning how Simon knew that his office and his home were one and the same.

Eli always began his sessions with a new client going over the ethical parameters of his role in his patient’s life. It was pretty much rehearsed at this point but he added in more emphasis to certain phrases this time around. He found that he needed to say it for himself as much as Simon needed to hear it.

He’d been a bit too excited to see him again. He knew he had to get control of the situation and this was his chance. Simon listened dutifully but kept looking down to the carnations that now sat in a vase on the table between them.

Over the next few weeks, Simon opened up to him like the petals of the flowers that became a constant in their weekly sessions even when he told Simon it was too much.

Eli shook his head and mumbled, “I should have known.”

He selected another message from two months later. The subject simply read: My dream. It had been opened already and Eli couldn’t even admit to himself how many times he’d read it.

> _Your body. You’re smooth and hot. I can feel the heat rising off you as I caress the skin of your navel with a razor._
> 
> _You’d let me do anything including this. You trust me when I tell you how good it’ll feel. You believe me when I say you’ll be divine._
> 
> _That is because you are. You are a living marble cast of a demi-god that I’ll worship if you let me. Simply shed the trappings of your humanity and let me serve you._
> 
> _You sigh when the cold metal touches your skin for one last swipe._
> 
> _I bathe you. You shiver at my touch but never pull away. You lean into my hands._
> 
> _I rub you over in oils until you shine._
> 
> _You are perfection. Be mine._

He got it while riding the bus and closed it quickly after reading the first few lines. His head popped up to see if anyone else could’ve seen his screen or was paying close attention to him. Thankfully, everyone was in their own world so Eli relaxed slightly. He swore to himself that he wouldn’t look again until he was home.

That resolve lasted all of 30 seconds.

Eli had never been pursued like this before, by man or woman. He’d always been the pursuant with his ex-girlfriends and his crushes on men never went very far. He’d admire from a distance and the few times he tried for more in college only led to heartbreak and broken friendships. He reconciled himself to fantasy and sustaining on simple flirtations and heated glances once his career took over his life.

But then came Simon.

He pushed his way into Eli’s line of focus and proceeded to burn so brightly Eli couldn’t look away. It was too passionate, too alluring, too encompassing to be ignored.

In the past two months since their first session, it continued to manifest beyond the never-ending stream of flowers. Perhaps a handshake that lingered for a bit or a longing stare as he hesitated to leave even though the session had officially ended. Simon would bring up any and every thing he could to prolong the goodbye with friendly conversation until it winded down into a tense silence.

After yesterday’s session, Simon moved past the silence into action. He stood close as he leaned on the side table at Eli’s side. He could hear Simon take a deep breath before feeling his pinky graze his hand and Simon’s lips touch his cheek in a swift chaste kiss.

Simon held still at his side, warm breath ghosting over his cheek as he whispered, “I miss you when I’m not here.” Before he could say anything, Simon pushed off and grabbed his coat from the hook by the door leaving without another glance. Eli didn’t exhale until he heard the door close. He rubbed his forearms willing the goosebumps to go away.

After leaving him like that, Simon must have dreamed of him — of them. And if he was hot and bothered with no release then Simon wasn’t going to go through it alone. He was going to drag Eli down with him.

Eli grew more uneasy in his seat knowing he had many more stops before he was home. He sighed audibly and gave in.

He swallowed hard as he read each word slowly and the scene played out in his mind. His jacket felt too warm and his mind ran amok with thoughts.

_What is he doing to you? More importantly, why are you letting him?_

He pushed the questions aside and kept reading.

And there it was. No metaphors or insinuations. Simon had finally just said it.

_Be mine._

Eli bit his lip and imagined Simon’s beard grazing his skin. He could almost feel Simon’s hands on him. The rhythms of the bus traveling down the road lulled him into his fantasy with ease. He relaxed and just let it happen.

And it felt good.

Oh so very good to let his guard down and imagine Simon sat in the seat next to him. Imagine his hands creeping up his thighs. Imagine him nuzzling his neck and whispering filthy words into his ear. Imagine him being undeterred by the looks of strangers as he unravelled Eli’s calm exterior until he was panting for anyone to see.

The bus jolted to a stop and Eli snapped out of his reverie.

He was a goner. He knew it.

Before he lost his nerve, he opened the email again, hit reply, and simply wrote, “Yes.”

By the time he made it home that evening, Simon was waiting on his doorstep. He held deep red carnations and a look of a starving man staring at his favorite meal. Eli tried to suppress a shiver but Simon caught it. He jerked his head toward the door signaling Eli to come unlock it.

As Eli fumbled with his keys, Simon crowded behind him, holding the flowers behind his back so there was no space between them. Eli stopped fidgeting with the keys to just breathe in deeply. Everything was so hot and the scent of flowers and cologne intoxicated him.

“Make no mistake, Doc. I will take you right here, right now.” Simon’s hand travelled down his stomach, inching closer and closer to the hem of his jumper.

“Ha,” Eli let out a half laugh, half groan and added “You wouldn’t dare. Would you really want people to see me?”

Simon lay his palm flat on his stomach, pressing him firmly against his front, before he sneered “Never.”

Simon removed his hand to take the keys from Eli’s hand that hadn’t stopped shaking. He opened the door with ease and guided Eli inside before turning to lock it. It wouldn’t be unlocked again for another 3 days.

There are no messages for months after that.

They spoke mostly in person, text, or phone so emails didn’t figure into the affair. Things were good and Eli had to admit he was happy.

It felt like things had fallen into place in the ways he’d always wanted. He’d smile as Simon watched him fix his hair in the mirror and say goodbye to his mom each morning. He’d think, “You’d like him, Ma.” And imagine her saying, “I think you’re right, dear” in return.

He was in the middle of the flame with Simon and life was good. Looking back on it now, he can see how it all began to shift with one seemingly innocuous admission.

“So I’m your first,” Simon said gleefully turning over to look at Eli one evening as they lay in bed.

Eli laughed as his readjusted to have Simon half draped over his torso, “Not first first. First guy though.”

“Still first then.” Simon crooned,  leaning down to kiss Eli’s chest over his heart. He grabbed the back of his head and weaved his fingers into the hair at Simon’s nape.

“Ah, yes darling you are. No other man compares.”

Simon’s head snapped up with a cocked brow, “And other women?” He dropped his head back down and took Eli’s nipple into his mouth. He sucked hard before nibbling gently.

“Fuck...no one. No one but you.”

Simon raised his head again, clearly satisfied, and nudged Eli’s nose with his. He laughed before claiming Simon’s lips and body for his own. He knew Simon hadn’t let many men see him vulnerable, let alone spread open, panting, and begging for release.  

Eli remembered thinking that he had equal footing with Simon that night.

 _I was wrong_ , he thought snapping back to the present task at hand.

The messages recommence three months ago. And though in the beginning he’d expect an email every week or so. It had grown to hundreds.

Each day.

The subject lines never varied much:

> _I’m sorry_
> 
> _I’m so sorry_
> 
> _I’m so so sorry_
> 
> _Please forgive me_
> 
> _Please baby_
> 
> _I apologize, will you accept?_
> 
> _Can we talk please?_
> 
> _Please please please hear me out_

This multitude of messages were largely unopened. Eli had no desire to respond. He wasn't really sure why he’d kept them.

Maybe he wanted to see how high the number would actually get.

_Well you have your answer now._

He sighed with a sorrowful look in his eyes like he stood at the edge of cliff. He selected them all, read and unread alike, and clicked the delete button.

The screen prompted, “Are you sure?” and Eli clicked yes with such fervor that his whole upper body shook.

After they were gone, his hand moved away, almost of his own volition, from the mouse to caress his collar bone. The stroking seemed to ease the tension he held in his shoulders and after a few deep breaths, he reached for his phone.

_The house tonight. I’ll be there at 6._

He sent the text quickly, sat his phone down gently, and turned away from his desk to look about his office.

All the necessities he needed from this room were nearly packed.

There would be time for Eli to run a few more errands before meeting him. He already knew the last item on his list: a bouquet of yellow carnations.

Eli thought humorlessly, _He said it best himself. Never show up to someone’s house empty handed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. [GIFs of Eli cleaning out his inbox](http://magnetos.co.vu/post/95096339774/michael-fassbender-in-shame-16)


	7. For the Family

“Princesa…”

One utterance in a deep accented baritone made her shoulders tense and the grip tighten on the ballpoint pen in her left hand. She knew the voice immediately and her body responded in kind.

Francisca didn’t glance upwards. She silently packed up her bags and bolted out of the library as fast as her lean legs would carry her.

Her mind reeled.

_Why is he here? What does he want? Is somebody following me? Of course there is why else would he know where to find you?_

She tugged on the scarf around her neck and chanced a glance over her shoulder. He wasn't there and she sighed audibly.

_How fucked up is it that you’re running from your own dad like this?_

She knew it was but that didn’t slow her hurried pace toward her apartment near campus. Her entire life had been one of distance from him so the idea of him near made her anxious.

Well in fact, it made her angry. 

She gripped the switchblade her mother gifted her when she left home after high school in her palm the entire walk back.

“Use it carefully, my dear. You cannot take back the pain it inflicts.” Lucy warned as she gazed into her eyes with such sorrow that she dare not speak the question in her mind. Cisca merely nodded as she placed it in her luggage.

When he didn’t follow her, she felt relief and disappointment. The part of her that felt like he deserved a few blows — _enough to maim not kill_ — was much louder in her mind. The girl who’d cried for hours after he left one evening with her baby brother was long gone.

She’d grown up with a struggling single mother who she watched endure every form of discrimination and disrespect imaginable. Lucy’s staggering beauty meant she was a target but her incomparable wits made her a threat.

Once Lucian and Cisca started school, Lucy wanted out and told Frankie as much.

“I have to protect my children,” Francisca remembers hearing her yell from the other side of her bedroom door. They stormed off into the other room so she couldn’t hear the rest. 

All she could do was wait.

She huddled in the corner with her favorite teddy bear from her dad, waiting for the inevitable knock at the door. Someone always came to check on her after the screaming died down.

This time it was Papa.

Her face lit up when she heard him, “Princesa?”

She ran towards the door and clutched his leg as soon as the door cracked open fully. She was too overcome with emotions she couldn’t name to speak to her dad so she just held on.

Frankie pried her fingers free so he could kneel and hug her.

“It’s going to be okay, sweetie. We’re sorry.” His warmth encapsulated her and she nodded into his neck.

She believed him. It always was okay in the end.

She felt him let out a long sigh and stopped rubbing circles into her back. Concerned, she looked up into his eyes to see unshed tears. 

“Papa?” her tiny voice trembled.

“I — uh,” he paused to wipe his eyes and tried again. “Your brother and I are going to take a trip. You’re going to stay here with Mama, ok?”

“What? No, you — no!” The tiny voice grew large as she became angry and began to pound her small but determined fists into his chest.

“Princesa stop, please listen to me,” he continued trying to control the outburst. “Look sweetheart, Mama and I have decided this is best for the family. And you remember what we say about family?”

She had stilled under his strong grip on her shoulders but refused to lift her head to look at him.

“What do we say?” he poked her belly trying to get a response. “Come on sweetie, say it with me.”

“Anything for the family,” she mumbled as he spoke in unison with her.

“Exactly princess. Anything for the family.” He sat down cross-legged in the doorway and guided her into his lap and then he spoke again. “And sometimes that isn’t always fun or pretty but it’s still best.”

“But it’s not fair!” she huffed.

“I know. It’s not. You’re right.” She finally looked up at him.

“So why?” she pleaded. “If you know it’s not fair, just stay.” 

He gripped the back of her head and held her close to his chest.

“It’s going to be better this way. You can’t understand it now but you will.” She didn’t take too kindly to being patronized, even at seven, and pushed off his lap storming to her bed.  

He sighed audibly and stood from his place on the floor. He picked up her teddy and gingerly walked over to her bedside. She flipped her head away from him as she lay on her belly.

He placed the bear by her side and bent down to kiss the tumble of curls atop her head. 

“I’ll be back for you. I promise.”

She didn’t respond. He didn’t wait for her too.

It’d been twenty years since anyone called her Princesa until this morning in the campus library. She’d been studying for her final exams and the last thing she ever expected was to find herself sat beside the first man to ever leave her. 

 _Pendejo_. 

She’d made it home with no interruptions to her memories but when she opened her front door she found a large gift box sitting proudly on her dining room table. 

She swiveled on her foot to close and lock her door. 

She dropped her scarf, jacket, and purse on the entryway table all the while eyeing the box that awaited her. 

The apartment was silent except for the sounds of her heels clicking on her hardwood floors. Her switchblade still sat ready in her palm as she walked further inside. She chanced a few quick glances around the living room to see if he was still there.  

No luck. 

 _Only a matter of time_ , she thought as she tightened her grip on her weapon. 

She walked over to the table and sat the blade down next to large blue box that awaited her attention.

After taking a deep breath, she raised her hands to lift the lid.

Just as she was about to touch the paper, she stopped abruptly.

“Fuck this.” She turned away and strode into the kitchen, eyes locking on the red wine bottle unopened on her counter.

She took a glass down from the highest shelf and popped the cork. Once she had poured a half glass, she stopped and looked into her dining room again.

The box stood out against the warm cream colors of her walls and deep cherry wood furniture. It was an anomaly. Something jammed into a place where it didn’t fit.

Just like every other gift Frankie had sent her the past two decades.

Her mother would urge her to open them when she was a kid but by her teens, she couldn’t force her to anymore. Lucy merely delivered them to her bedroom and never asked about them again.

Cisca had taken to gleefully destroying them.

The teddy bear thrown into the dumpster.

The clothes covered in muddy shoe prints.

The prom dress burned.

The jewelry pawned.

The boxes had finally stopped after she’d left home for college — until today.

And she can’t decide if she should open it or throw it off the fire escape.

Feeling rather drained by the ordeal, Cisca sighed and turned back to her wine but stopped short of taking a sip knowing it’ll be better if she let it breathe. She grabbed the bottle and glass, walked out of the room, and switched off the light without a backward glance. 

Francisca opened her eyes to sound of a blaring horn and Riz cursing out a pedestrian. 

“Watch where you’re going, ya cunt!”

She spoke with an even tone, “Riz…”

“Sorry, sorry. But this guy—”

“And I’ve told you not to use that word in my presence. Now get it together. You will not fuck up my mood today.”  

She was so lost in her memories she’d lost track of time. They were almost to the park, only being mildly held up by midday traffic.

Riz had grown quiet after his outburst and she didn’t miss the amused look Dom sent his way from the passenger seat. 

 _Such children._  

She adjusted her sunglasses and looked out the window. It was such a beautiful day.

“And you’re sure he’s going to be there?” she heard from beside her. Annoyed, she turned, removed her shades, and looked squarely at Nate.

“Yes.”

“I don’t think he’s a stand up guy Cis.” She raised an eyebrow and cleared her throat. “Francisa, sorry.”

There was no remorse in his eyes.

The man had never warmed to her, even before Frankie had given her all the power of the family business before he died.

He’d hated her even more when she accepted it. 

He reviled her the most when she excelled at it.

No one expected her to fall into the life so easily and yet here she was settling a vendetta.

For her, her parents, and Lucian.

“Do not question me on this again,” she stated coolly and turned once more to her view and her memories. 

Lucian.

He was the one that brought her father back into her life five years ago. She didn’t know it until she’d opened the box he left three years after it arrived when she was packing up her apartment after completing her graduate program. She’d stuffed it deep into a closet and pushed it out of her mind.

He’d never approached her again. 

When she saw it, she didn’t hesitate this time. The regret of not spending more time with her mother before the disease took her light, her mind, and eventually her body was still fresh on her mind.

She pulled the box out carefully and scooted back until she felt her back hit the bed. She lifted the lid carefully as to not send up whirls of dust and sat it beside her.  

Cisca didn’t know what to expect but she surely didn’t expect paper.

Lots of folded sheets of paper and envelopes. 

Letters. 

“Princesa…”

She said the word aloud as she saw letter after letter addressed to her in her father’s handwriting. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw handwriting she didn’t recognize.  

_Cissy…_

Lucian.

She pulled out the letters carefully but quickly, eager to read each one. The longing she’d been trying to suppress under anger all these years swelled in her when she saw photos.  

Lucian smiling.

Laughing. 

She sighed as the tears rolled down her cheek. 

_How had she gone this long without knowing her brother’s smile? How could she turn her back on him? Keep him stowed away like this?_

She wiped away the tears so she could take it all in. 

Frankie chronicled their lives in London from the time she was seven years old. He missed her so. It came through in every letter. Everything he wished he could show her. Everything he wished he could teach her. 

After awhile the letters had attachments.

Photos. Drawings. Letters scrawled in crayon.

They’d reached for her for all these years and she never knew.

None of the letters had been mailed. He’d stored them up like he knew she’d never receive them but he had to write to her anyways.

He’d never stopped even though he knew he’d never reach her.

Lucian’s letters became lengthier over time as he grew up, to the point where they had envelopes of their own to protect his privacy. He asked her about girls. About mama. About growing up in the States.

Around the time he would have been sixteen, his letters stopped. 

Frankie’s continued on though. He wrote despairingly about his worries for Lucian. He wrote of his concerns that he was losing him to the very life that dragged him away from his wife and daughter.

Francisca knew her father was a criminal. She knew her mother was too. She knew it was one of the reasons her mother pushed her so hard to make her own way. It seemed like Frankie had tried to do the same with Lucian but instead he sought to become the next in line. 

He sought to gain his father’s respect as his rightful heir. He sought to offend the women who abandoned him by becoming the very thing they’d fear.

 _Oh Lucian, no._  

She shook her head as she ached for her lost brother and the father who was in over his head. 

His final letters to her are pleas.

“I wish you could talk to him. He needs you, whether he knows it or not.”

 _Well you shouldn’t have TAKEN HIM!_  

She stood up angrily, pushed the box away from herself, and sat atop her bed. 

She held her head in her hands and took some deep breaths.

Feeling calmer, she looked up again and saw one last bright red envelope in the box. She reached down to grab it and then lay back on the mattress to read it.

Her brows furrowed when she saw not much writing on the paper within. 

“I waited too long to give these to you. I don’t ask your forgiveness because I don’t deserve it. But I do want you to come for his sake. Call me once you’ve read this. Then I’ll know you’re ready. I will leave you be til then. Love Papa.”

She was on a plane crossing the Atlantic within in a month.

Donning black at her brother’s grave within a week.

Washing blood from under nails within days.

Her father smiled so wide when she’d returned that night with a wild-eyed look of cat with its kill. 

“Giovanni’s brother never saw you coming, did he?”

She chuckled, “Of course not. I’m a Barrett.”

He hugged her tightly, saying so much with his grip that he couldn’t say aloud. She leaned into him feeling comfort she didn’t know she missed. The room was dark except for the city lights coming in from the office windows. 

They settled on the settee, shared a bottle of the club’s best wine, and reminisced about the two lights of their lives that dimmed far too soon.

“I know that wasn’t easy for you. Even though avenging feels good. I know that wasn’t easy.”

She glanced over at him as he stared off into the distance. She laid her head on his shoulder and uttered, “Yea, but anything for the family.”

He hugged her close to him and she could feel the last bit of tension leave her body.

It didn’t take long for Giovanni to send his goons after them. Back and forth they waged war on each other for months.

A stabbed henchmen here.

A stolen client there. 

Nothing that shook Cisca too much until she got Nate’s frantic phone calls.

The details he rambled out jumbled together as he spoke because all that registered for her was, “Frankie’s been shot.”

“Did you take that bastard out?” is all she managed to say.

“Huh?”

“Did you kill that muthafucka Nate or are you too worthless to even do that since you clearly couldn’t protect my father?!”

“Fuck you you little bitc— you know what I got too much respect for the man whose blood is still on my hands to argue with you. Get here. Now.” 

When she got to the club, it was clear Frankie had lost a lot of blood and was barely holding on. They’d hastily thrown together a triage station and there were bloody cloth strewn all over his desk.

“Papa?” she said softly as she entered the room with stilted steps.

He smiled when he saw her but the light couldn’t reach his eyes. He was ashen and looked like he could barely lift his arm to reach for her but he still tried.

She rushed to him and placed her face in his palm. 

“Princesa…”

She smiled through her tears.  

Instead of arguing with Nate about how this happened and what to do, she kept her father’s attention and kept him talking.

Nate was largely not paying attention but ordering around the staff to get the place cleaned up and made sure the building was secure. His attention didn’t turn back until Frankie said, “I want this to be yours, baby girl. It’s all yours.”

She shook her head, “Don’t talk like that. You’re going to be fine and we’ll do this together.”

“It’s yours, if you want it. Your mother —” he let out a strained cough and adjusted how he was sitting. “Your mother didn’t want it and I punished her for it. So stupid. But you...I don’t want you to take up this life if you don’t really want it. But if you do,” he paused and stroked her cheek. “You could rule this city.”

She smiled bright and kissed his hand. She stood and gestured for Nate to help her move him to the settee. They carefully guided him over being mindful of his bandaged torso.

She slept on the floor next to him, with her head laid against his calf.

She was in black again two weeks later.

Nate mourned alongside her and begrudgingly fell in line when paperwork was found in Frankie’s office that left his businesses and property to her.

His station hadn’t changed much really. He was still first in command behind a powerful Barrett. It was an enviable position to be honest. And things were well until Francisca — as she now demanded to be called — started to wade into areas of the business foreign to her. 

She’d waltz in with her fashionable suits, looking like a figurehead. But once she opened her mouth, out came ideas and strategy which had been Nate’s job. And she never let him forget how much better she was at it when one of her ideas succeeded. 

Like starting high stakes poker games at the clubs.

They brought in revenue, required less middlemen, and often gave insights to what was happening in the other families. Time may have passed since the Mancini crew had served a fatal blow but she was always looking for an opportunity to pounce.

She rarely played at the games herself anymore because she’d grown tired of being hit on by every geezer that thought she was another opportunity to try their luck. She’d cut her eyes and savagely rebuke them. And on occasion wield her switchblade to maim an unwelcome hand. 

But tonight she found herself sat at the poker table, dolled up with coils framing her face, as the youngest and newest member of the Mancini crew sat across from her.

_He’s too young to know better._

“So how are you finding Lucian’s this evening?” she purred.

“Oh this place is tops. I’m not suppose—” he stopped himself short then snorted and rubbed his nose.

_Ah, a fiend. How lovely._

“I’m glad to hear it. We want our guests to feel welcomed.” She smiled brightly and he blushed under her gaze.

_Got ‘em._

The table filled in with more players and she mentally prepared herself for the night’s roaming stares when a Scottish brogue asked her, “Excuse me, may I?” 

She looked up to see a bright, almost innocent smile, and nodded. 

“Too kind. I’m Simon.” He offered her a hand and paled when the men in black around the room braced. 

“It’s alright boys. I’m Francisca.” She leaned in closer to whisper, “You’re in my club if you hadn’t gathered as much.” 

His eyes grew comically large and he put both hands on the table in full sight. 

“I’m sorry. Riz invited me and I didn’t — sshhould I go?”

She chuckled at his response. 

“Relax. Let’s play.” 

In the first game, Francisca took a liking to his company. She noticed how he played aggressively but smiled easily. And not once did he make a move on her.

At one point, she got so caught up in bantering with him she almost lost sight of the Mancini boy who was growing uneasy at losing her attention.

“Ahk, you might wanna tend to him love. Think he’s gonna blow if you don’t bat your lashes at him.”

She turned her gaze to the other side of the table to see the boy looking rather displeased.

“Hm, patience is a virtue they say. I was surely hoping to find someone righteous tonight.”

“Ha well, I’m out. Need to find some twink to take my mind off how much you took me for tonight,” Simon stood and bent down to kiss her cheek. “Go easy on him love, he looks like he’ll break.”

They laughed, and she kissed his other cheek. She watched him as he exited the room back out into the slapping bass of the club. 

The rest of the evening went as planned. And even still once she’d piled the Mancini boy into a cab too drunk and sexed out to remember everything he’d told her, she got a nasty phone call from Nate. Apparently the men had shared how she’d almost lost the Mancini boy to some "fairy". 

“Look, I know a fiend when I see one. And I played two this evening. Trust, he’ll be back and we’ll get a lot out of him. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to be alone.”

She could almost hear the eye roll and he ended the call with a sigh.

_Papa you are the only reason I don’t kill him._

She made her way back upstairs and stepped out her red stilettos. She loved what they did for her already long legs but did not appreciate what they did to her toes.

She let out a groan and sighed when she sat down on her bed.

Her mind replayed all the events of the evening. 

His men are growing restless with how things are going in the business.

He’s losing respect with his crew and hopes to score big to get back on track.

He knows the Barretts still have it out for him but thinks he’s untouchable.

He doesn’t fear the bitch that’s taken over.

Giovanni should really know better by now but she has taken a decidedly different approach than her father would have. She’s waiting and she knows it’s not in vain.

Tonight’s intel had been good.

The sex wasn’t.

But she wasn’t really surprised on that front. She rolled over onto her stomach and laughed thinking back to what that Scot had said.

At one point she really did think she’d broken the poor thing.

She laughed aloud and hoped she was right about him. Yea sure, an addict was good for business but she felt like his company would be good for her. 

Something about his smile.

Something about his relentless enthusiasm.

_He’s not your brother._

She shook the thought away but still hoped to see him again.

She was delighted when Simon became a regular at the club, often seen with boys fawning over him. She kept an eye on him and watched him fall deeper into debt without needing any goading at all. And yet he kept coming back and spending his evening with her.

But then he stopped coming as often as before. 

He fell off the radar at the club for a while, much to the annoyance and sadness to the twinks who he regularly charmed out of their pants. She was admittedly hurt the first time he sent his payments and regards via Riz. She worried about him but was too preoccupied with taking over Giovanni’s crew to do much else. She’d been getting more and more involved in the underbelly of the business as she strategized the response to Giovanni’s failed heist. 

And every step was met with resistance and questions. Every decision she made was being scrutinized or followed by comments of what Frankie would do.

“I don’t give a shit what he would do! He’s gone. I’m not and this is mine.” She finally exclaimed as she laid out her plan to leverage her connections to one-up Giovanni and establish their — her — dominance.

“He’s into me for a lot of money to pay off his poker debt — he’ll deliver.” She assured them. 

She didn’t mention the determined look she’d seen in Simon’s eyes when he brought up the idea. He looked like a man trying to save his life through one last bad deed. Just one more so he wouldn’t lose everything.

“So I get a valuable priceless Giacometti, your debt gets cleared, and you maybe even get a cut yourself — for being so cute.” She joked. 

He seemed distant but smiled all the same.

“Yes, we both get what we want — it’s perfect.”

She remembered how his eyes twinkled as he said it and it made her smirk as she saw the park where they'd meet come into view. He really believed it, she’d really wanted to but knew she should be cautious until it was all said and done.  

Money was on the line yes, but her reputation was too. She had to carry out what Giovanni couldn’t to command the respect she knew she deserved. Things were running her way now and she needed a win.

Riz found a place to park that had the bench in view but still at a distance.

“Have sights on me, but do not approach unless you see me give the signal.” They nodded silently in response. 

She stepped onto the pavement, adjusting her white coat and gripping her tan handbag.

Too pristine to be a criminal.

_But just right for a boss._

She smiled and walked confidently to the bench — awaiting Simon to take his lunch break. 

When she sees him, he’s confidently strutting with a big smile on his face carrying a briefcase. She had to suppress a laugh and continued reading her paper. He sat down by her and whispered, “Special delivery.”

She smiled and looked his way. 

“You’re chipper.”

“Why shouldn’t I be?”

His phone buzzed and he looked briefly to read the text. He smiled brightly again and put the phone away. He started to bounce his leg and looked at her expectantly.

“Hot date?” She said noting his eagerness to leave.

“Ha — something like that yea.”

She smiled warmly, elated to see him so smitten instead of chasing tail reeking of booze and covered in glitter. She grasped the briefcase and popped it open quickly to check that all was well.

She sighed happily and said, “Well I know better than to keep hubby waiting. Go have fun.”

He gripped her hand briefly before standing.

He turned before walking off, “You’ll let me —”

“Yes, yes and we’ll have a drink to celebrate. Now off to your mystery man. Can’t keep him from me forever, Simon.”

 “I can try,” he grinned and sauntered off.

She took her time walking back to the black SUV and didn’t make any effort to hide her triumphant smile. She got in the backseat and the silence was heavy. They couldn't say they were wrong and frankly, she didn't want to hear it.

Nate finally spoke, “Want me to call Carter, now?” 

“No,” she slipped on her shades. “We’ll call in a bit. Right now I’m famished. Let’s eat.” 

Riz pulled out into traffic already knowing her favorite place as she watched the cars go by and absent-mindedly stroked the briefcase. 

She let her eyes close behind the shades and let her head fall backwards to the headrest.

_It’s done. Just a bit more and you’re done._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. [Images of the Barrett Family](https://soulfulmags.tumblr.com/post/158876223582/meet-the-barretts-delroy-lindo-as-frankie-s%C3%B4nia)  
> 2\. [Image of smiling younger Lucian](https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B-zpl77tt1JfR0I1YzdyMDZvVEk)  
> 3\. [Image of Francisca going to meet Simon](https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B-zpl77tt1JfVnBVOWlpUmJ5X2M)


	8. Bring It to Me

Simon strutted through the metal detectors with ease and headed for the elevators. He stuffed his hands in his pockets while he watched the numbers count down to the ground floor.

He felt like whistling but resisted the urge. Settling on rocking back and forth from the balls of his feet to the heels as the best means of releasing some energy.

Simon didn’t feel nervous. He was excited.

Returning to the scene of the crime was in fact thrilling.

No alarms were sounding.

No sideways glances.

He’d been welcomed back like he hadn’t raided the archives just an hour prior. The lull wouldn’t last forever of course. There was a massive retrospective scheduled for Giacometti in a few months which meant he’d have time to disappear and that the piece would go for a lot of money.

It always happened when an artist became the focus of the fickle art elite who live and die by their private collections full of work they couldn't understand.

Simon didn’t mind screwing them over.

Delancy’s had been good to him though, so he felt slight remorse as he walked the halls back to his desk. They’d treated him well over the years but he finally had something he valued more.

Eli.

He dropped into his leather chair with a sigh at the thought of him. Now behind the closed door of his office, he could call him. He wanted to so badly but hesitated.

He resolved to just stare at the text again.

_The house tonight. I’ll be there at 6._

Not our house.

Not yet.

But it’s a start.

Eli hadn’t fully committed but this was something. It was enough to make Simon anxious. He needed to clean. He needed to get food. He needed to make tonight special.

He had to get this right.

“He’s probably busy….” he thought aloud and decided he would just wait until tonight.

He would make everything perfect. He would show Eli that he was worthy of his forgiveness.

He’d make it right.

Simon managed to feign like he was working for another hour before calling it quits. He practically skipped out of the building and headed straight for their favorite restaurant.

The food sat on his lap, warming his thighs, as he rode the train to his new neighborhood. It was early and he was grateful to miss the crowd. He relaxed enough to let his eyes drift close, all the while gripping the bag of food in one hand and his briefcase in the other.

_You’ll be with him again soon._

Once he made it to the house, Simon placed the briefcase in between his legs to open the front door and immediately hit a large cardboard box as it swung open.

“Shit!” he exclaimed as he rushed in to make sure nothing valuable broke when the box tumbled over.

_He’s never gonna accept this._

Simon bolted upright at the thought.

He’d been squatting down to gather up the clothes that were strewn in the entryway. He shook his head from side to side trying to uproot it from his mind.

Only then did he realize he’d left his front door wide open and the briefcase outside.

He leapt to gather it up in his arms and slammed the front door in haste.

“Fuckkk — get it together Simon!” He slammed his head against the door in frustration and hugged the case close to his chest.

He took a few deep breaths, let his arms fall down to sides, and gripped the case in one hand.

He closed his eyes and there he was.

_All knowing glances and smirks._

_Eyes shifting blue to green._

_Hair curling between his fingertips._

_Accent rich and melodic._

_Forearms flexing._

_Veins bulging._

_Tears flowing._

_Fingernails digging._

_Bruises blossoming._

_Breaths gasping._

_Simon stop_

_Simon_

_Stop_

_I can’t_

_Stop_

_STOP!_

His eyes snapped open as they filled with tears.

Love replaced fear in his voice, his eyes, his body. And it was Simon's fault. He didn’t and couldn’t deny it. He’d spent months trying to show Eli he was sorry. That he would never hurt him again. That he would always be there for him. That he would take care of him.

All to no avail but today something finally changed.

Eli reached back.

He was coming here to the home he purchased for them.

Simon had to show him. He must show him what their life could be — not what it was.

He cleaned up as best he could with the little bit of time he had left before Eli arrived 10 minutes early like he usually did. He smiled at the fond memory of Eli sitting outside Delancy’s at 4:50 every Wednesday. He could rely on that.

_Until you betrayed him._

He huffed and tried to focus his efforts on the dining room, setting up tea candles around the table, and portioning out the food for dinner.

Six o’clock rolled around and he was overcome with panic.

“Please…” he whispered as he put his head down on the table. His leg bounced with agitation as he resisted the urge to scour the streets.

Then there was a sparse knock.

He leapt from his seat and rushed to the door.

_Do not scare him._

He stopped and took a deep breath, wiped his brow, then opened the door.

Before he could speak he heard, “Sorry I’m a bit late.”

Eli brought a bouquet of yellow carnations from behind his back. He didn’t make any efforts to bring himself closer. The flowers serving as a barrier more than an offering.

“Don’t apologize, you’re right on time.” He didn’t want to blink. Eli was here, right in front of him. His fingers twitched as he resisted the urge to reach for him.

Eli cleared his throat, and Simon moved out of the doorway so he could enter.

“I hope you don’t mind but I thought we could eat. I got your favorite.”

Eli stepped lightly into the dining room and glanced at the table before dropping the flowers alongside the spread.

“Simon, that was considerate of you.” He turned and flashed a smile that made Simon lean his weight on the door to stop his knees from giving out.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Simon offered as he followed behind him.

Eli quickened his pace to put some distance between them as he heard him approach.

“I’m sorry I—”

“Stop.”

Simon’s mouth snapped shut and he waited for Eli to show him what to do next. Eli sighed, sat down at the table, and squared his shoulders then said, “C’mon. Bring it to me and then we can eat.”

Simon nodded and turned to grab his briefcase. He placed it on the table in front of Eli, who sat with his legs crossed and a worried look on his face.

“Show me.”

He flicked it open and carefully unravelled the rolled canvas. He knelt in front of him to bring the painting closer.

“It went perfectly. Just like you assured me. She had no cl—”

Eli lifted a hand, cutting off his excited ramblings. His eyes transfixed on the painting. The lone figure sat in a room made of frenetic strokes that blended into the body until they were one. Simon was partial to the classical styles but could appreciate the energy it captured. Portraits were often stoic and still but this piece vibrated.

It was raw much like himself as the moments dragged on before Eli finally spoke.

“It’s stunning.” He lifted his gaze to look at Simon. “Thank you.”

Eli gingerly brought his hand up to cup his face.

Simon gasped and began to openly weep.

He lowered his head to rest on Eli’s thigh no longer able to resist the warmth of his body. Eli let him and stroked his hair repeating softly, “You did well, Simon. You did well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. [Image of Giacometti's The Artist's Mother, 1950](https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B-zpl77tt1JfdThQbmdNMGQyelU)  
> 2\. [Image of Simon's look when he sees Eli again](https://soulfulmags.tumblr.com/post/159018742542)


	9. Sinking

_1, 2, 3, 4. Breathe._

His chest lifted in evenly timed breaths as he tried to keep himself calm. His nerves were screaming for him to jump into action. He wanted to flee, fight, and fuck all at once.

Simon did always bring out the rawest emotions in him but Eli had to stay focused.

He was so close. The canvas was within in reach and Simon was literally in his palm whimpering at the slightest touch.

Eli hadn’t been sure what he was going to see when he knocked on the emerald green door to the house he’d refused to enter until now. He knew it was the right place because Simon had sent him pictures and waxed poetic about how he chose it because the color reminded him of his eyes.

He’d stood outside for a few moments, letting the minutes tick by, knowing that Simon would be flustered. He took a sadistic pleasure in knowing he was making him anxious. But still, there was fear hanging in the back of his mind.

_What if nothing had gone right? What if he can’t control the avalanche of emotions on the other side of the door? What if he loses control?_

Eli raised a hand to his collarbone and felt himself flush with a heated anger that overrode the fear. He knew why he was doing this and he’d never know if he succeeded if he didn’t face him.

A slight knock, rushed footsteps, and then there he was.

His hair was shorter than the last time Eli saw him. He looked overwhelmed like when they first met because within seconds Eli saw disbelief, excitement, joy, and relief cross his face.

For a fleeting moment, Eli felt bad for him.

It was rather sweet the way he’d laid everything out on the table — literally and figuratively.

He really thought this was an evening of reconciliation while Eli was resolved to never see this man again. But this moment with Simon kneeling before him with his tears staining the fabric stretched across his thighs, Eli would savor this.

He felt powerful.

He’d bent the man who flipped his entire world — first with sweet kisses then with demanding hands — to his whim.

He could have anything he wanted.

_So what was it — flee, fight, or fuck?_

Eli took another deep measured breath then became overwhelmed by the warm spices from the takeout filling his lungs. His mind flooded with memories of Simon nibbling his fingertips and sucking sauce off his fingers. His eyes snapped open. He didn’t want to remember the sweet times.

_Focus._

Eli looked down at Simon’s face cast in flickering candlelight. His eyes closed, cheeks damp, and mouth uttering barely audible sounds.

He was struck by how fragile Simon looked. This man had come to embody power to him. A frightful figure of fury — but he wasn’t right now.

Eli could do anything to him.

“Simon…”

He finally spoke but didn’t get an immediate response. So he stroked his thumb across his cheek and Simon let out a mewling sob.

“Tell me, Simon.”

Blue glass-like eyes looked up at Eli and he heard him say clearly, “Please don’t leave me.”

In that moment, his decision was made — mercy over cruelty.

“Come here.”

Eli pulled Simon up from his knees and placed his hands on his thigh. Though eye level with each other now, Simon refused to look at him directly but continued to stare down at their intermingled hands covering where his tears had fallen.

“I don’t deserve anything from you. But I want everything.” He stopped and huffed out a long sigh, “That’s the problem isn’t it?”

He paused and finally looked into Eli’s eyes before he said, “But I swear it won’t happen again.”

“I know, Simon.” Eli stated with certainty not glancing away.

“You do?”

Simon looked like he was holding on by a thin thread as he bit down on his lip.

“Yes, and —” before Eli could finish his statement Simon’s mouth was covering his. Eli gasped into the kiss as Simon crowded him back into the chair stealing every breath he could manage.

_Too much too much too much_

Eli felt overwhelmed by the barrage. But Simon carried on licking at his lips, nipping at his chin, and sliding his nose alongside his own.

Eli hated himself for how good it felt to be consumed by Simon, even now. In fact, it made him angry.

_Fuck mercy._

“Wait, hmp — wait!” Eli forced his hand out from under Simon’s and pressed on his chest. Simon backed off panting heavily, “I’m sorry I just —”

Eli raised his hand to cut him off and looked him coolly in the eye.

Simon looked lost.

Eli took the lead.

“I want you to stand up and take three steps back.”

Simon rose to his feet and backed away slowly like he clearly objected to the command.

Once he was in place, Eli smiled and said, “Good boy, Simon.” He noticed the way his words made Simon shiver and got inspired.

“Are you cold? Because I am burning up.” He unwrapped the scarf from around his neck and slid off his jacket leaving on his white button-up shirt.

Simon’s mouth fell open then he licked his lips.

“Now I bet you want me to take off more than this, right?” Simon nodded in a stuttered fashion as his eyes trailed down Eli’s neck to his chest and torso.

Eli pushed up off his chair, leaned back against the table, and crossed his arms across his chest. His exposed forearms flexed and Simon sighed like a lovesick schoolboy.

“Well, this isn’t about what you want Simon. It’s about what I want.” He paused and took a deep breath and delighted in the way Simon’s eyes darkened as his chest expanded under the constraints of his fitted shirt.  “And right now, I want to make you beg.”

“Yes, Eli.”

“No, you don’t get to call me that” he snapped.  “You will call me Doctor.”

“Yes, Doctor.” Simon just about moaned out his response and Eli had to widen his stance.

“And you will follow Doctor’s orders, correct?”

Simon nodded as if he didn’t trust his voice but Eli let it slide. Couldn’t have another moan distract him from the task at hand.

“I want you naked and on your knees.”

Simon’s eyebrow jumped but he didn’t hesitate to slouch off his blazer and toe off his shoes. He never once broke eye contact with Eli as layer by layer fell away revealing pale freckled muscle underneath.

Eli had always thought he was gorgeous but even more so like this. Vulnerable and pliant. He’d only gotten this a few times during their affair but it was always worth the wait to see the normally tightly wound up ball of energy become a subdued mound of flesh at his will.

Simon pushed his clothes and shoes to the side, near one of the unpacked boxes, and gently sank down to his knees. Once there, he stared up at Eli expectantly.

Eli pushed away from table and took small measured steps closer. He walked in a circle around Simon before settling at his back.

“What would you let me do to you, Simon?” he bent down and whispered into his ear.

Simon’s eyes fluttered and he whimpered, “Anything — please.”

Eli smiled with a savage glint in his eye and growled, “What was that?”

“Please, please, Doctor” Simon groaned.

“Well if you insist,” Eli purred. “Close your eyes, Simon.”

Simon looked like he was sinking into deep water as he followed Eli’s hand from overhead to cover his eyes.

 

* * *

 

Something is way too bright was the first thing Simon thought when he woke up.

_It’s the sun, you idiot._

His brain chided him and he slowly opened his eyes to see he was right. The sky was mostly clear and the room was flooded with a warm light.

He moved his hand down his bare chest until it hit a warm blanket covering his more indecent bits from the world. Though the blanket was nice, he was still on a hard wooden floor and his back was definitely not pleased.

He groaned as he sat up gingerly and stretched his arms trying to work out a few kinks. As he did, he looked around the place trying to ascertain where he was.

When he spotted his pile of clothes on the floor and the extinguished candles on the table, he knew it must have been some lucky guy’s night to have taken him home. He did feel the ache of what he hoped was a good fuck in his muscles.

Whoever it was, they trusted him to let himself out apparently because no one was around.

As he got dressed, he spotted the yellow flowers on the table.

It was time to go visit his mother but he couldn’t go like this. Seemed disrespectful to go from a one-night stand’s house to see her.

He’d go home get cleaned up, and then go tell her all about the good things that had happened. She’d be so proud of him for the promotion and all the hard work he’d been putting in.

He put on his blazer and grabbed his briefcase before giving the room a onceover. He didn’t think he was forgetting anything and it hadn’t looked like his mystery man had left a note for him.

_Oh well, his loss._

He closed the door behind him and tried to orient himself toward the nearest train station. It was still pretty early but there were enough people about that he’d find his way.

Soon enough he was bounding down the stairs on his way back to his familiar stomping grounds.

As he rode the train, he thought more about what he wanted to share with his mom. He felt guilty like he hadn’t been to see her in ages.

_Who else was more important to him? Who else could he have been working so hard to please?_

It was always her and now he would be able to share with her how it had all paid off. The new job was time consuming but worth every hour he spent obsessing over it.

She’d be proud of him.

He smiled brightly at the thought. Simon knew his mood was contagious as he saw others smile back at him. Maybe it was the sunlight. Or maybe they got laid last night too.

He chuckled at the thought as he turned the corner onto his street. But the laughter died in his throat once he saw Nate sitting on the steps of his building.

Fear flooded him because he knew that having Francisca’s number one at your door wasn’t good news.

“Frankie wants to see you,” Nate said coolly.

He swallowed and nodded knowing it was best not to run.

Nate motioned toward the black SUV parked in front and Simon wordlessly walked over to it. He climbed into the backseat and gripped his briefcase in his lap.

Nate hopped in, started up the car, and they silently merged into the flow of traffic.

Simon teared up, flexing his grip, as he tried to remember what he did to piss off his old friend. The harder he thought about it the more he hit up against doors in his mind. Each one of them the same taunting shade of emerald green.

Frustrated his mind settled on one thought then repeated it over and over.

_Forgive me Mama._


End file.
